Page 12 of Taming the Highland Misfits
Each one was a work of art in itself and looked as though it had been patiently and lovingly carved over many hours. The detail in each one was so precise that Isla thought an artist must have done them, and she wondered how they could have arrived in a humble abode like the one she presently occupied. She had no doubt that this dwelling was merely a poor farmhouse or something of the kind.
The walls were plain, without any adornment like pictures, and apart from the wooden figurines, there were no other ornaments. The floor, like any other cottage, was covered with straw, and the fireplace was nothing more than a hole in the wall with a few roughly-hewn stones around it.
There was a window on one wall covered by a stretched sheet of thick linen. Glass was an expensive commodity; only the richest of people could afford it, and the owner of the cottage was clearly not one of those. This thought jerked Isla’s mind back to the person whose dwelling the house was. Where were they? What were their intentions towards her?
Isla looked around for a weapon of some kind to use against the owner of the house should they prove to be aggressive, but she could find nothing to hand, not even fire tools beside the chimney. She lay back on the bed and heaved a great sigh; there was nothing she could do to defend herself now, so it seemed that her fate was in the lap of the gods.
* * *
Finley’s soup was almost ready when he heard a moaning sound coming from the small bedroom. His first instinct was to run and see how the young woman was, but he forced himself to be calm; rushing into the chamber would only frighten her, so he took a deep breath and cautiously opened the door.
He was pleased to see that she was awake, although her face was still very pale and her expression was agonised, but if their places had been reversed he would have looked much the same, he thought.
As he advanced across the room towards her he saw her suddenly become aware of him, and her eyes widened in fear. She backed as far up the bed as she possibly could until the back of her head touched the wall, then drew her knees up to her chin and hugged them as if trying to make herself as small as possible.
“Please don’t hurt me,” she begged piteously. “I will not resist you, but please let me live. I promise not to give away your whereabouts. Please, please, I am no threat to you. I only ask that you spare my life.”
Finley sat down on the chair beside the bed and shook his head. “I am not goin’ tae hurt ye,” he said gently, looking at her panicked face and trying to assume a reassuring expression. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her any more than she had been scared already, but he was aware that his physical stature was not reassuring. He was tall and muscular, and even though he had no intention of harming her, she had no way of knowing that, and he had no way of proving it.
“Ye fell off your horse an’ hurt your head,” he told her, “but I will help ye heal if ye let me. I swear I have nae bad intentions towards ye, hen.” Gazing at her terrified face, he felt infinitely sorry for her; she was so helpless, and she was being asked to put her trust in a complete stranger. He doubted if he could have done such a thing.
“Where am I?” the young woman asked fearfully.
“In my home,” he answered. “Safe. Ye will come tae nae harm here, hen. No’ fae me, anyway.”
“Where is my horse?” Isla asked fearfully. “Did she run away?”
“No, she followed us here,” Finley replied. “She is safe in the barn, dinnae ye worry.”
Isla breathed a sigh of relief. She and Raffy were the best of friends, and the loss of the little mare would have broken her heart. She looked around her. The small house had a calm, cosy feel, and the man sitting beside her, although he was tall and powerful, exuded an air of wholesome gentleness. She felt somewhat reassured, although she was not yet ready to let her guard down completely.
Slowly, she uncurled her body and studied him; she had a niggling feeling that she had seen him before somewhere. He was fair, with eyes the colour of the sky on a sunny day, and reddish-blond, shoulder-length hair with a beard to match. Such colouring was typical of this part of Scotland, where the people were mostly fair or red-headed with blue or green eyes; even so, he was distinctive because of his impressive physique. Isla did not think she had ever seen a bigger man.
But if he had intended to hurt or rape her, would he not have done so already? She ran her eyes over him again and slowly began to feel that he was not the sort of man who would take advantage of her current situation. Isla had always believed in trusting her instincts, and now they were telling her that here was a good man, one who would not harm her.
She had met men who were brutal and vicious, and indeed her father was a good example, but they had always had an aura of violence about them, whereas this man had none. Everything about him spoke of a gentleness of spirit. She took in a deep breath and let it out again slowly, expelling all the tension from her body.
“Thank you for rescuing me,” she said, with a little smile. “I don’t know what would have happened to me if you hadn’t come along. I have heard stories of what these men do to helpless women and I think I had a lucky escape.” At that moment, the wound on her forehead gave her a particularly excruciating twinge of pain and she winced and put her fingertips on it.
“I will find ye somethin’ for the pain,” he told her as he stood up and walked out.
* * *
Finley went to the shelf where all the herbal medicines that his aunt had left were kept. He selected a jar of something that looked like tiny pieces of chopped wood, but which were in fact chips of willow bark. He prepared it the way he had seen his aunt doing, by dropping it in water and then boiling it for several minutes. She had treated him with it many times, and he knew it to be an effective painkiller.
While he was waiting for it to be ready, he moved over to the door, opened it then looked out, thinking about the woman who was inhabiting his bed. He could not think of her without his body reacting in the most primitive way, since she was undoubtedly one of the loveliest ladies he had ever encountered.
Yet there was something about her…dammit! What was it? Why did she look so familiar? Those brown eyes—where had he seen them before? There were very few people with eyes the colour of ripe chestnuts in the Highlands; it was very uncommon. He racked his brains, trying to think of the answer, but it eluded him completely.
When the willow bark tea was ready, he poured it into a cup and went through to the bedroom again. Isla had sat upright in bed and was combing through her tangled hair with her fingers in a vain attempt to remove the tangles that had been caused by the day’s activities. She was having no luck at all, however.
“I have a comb you could borrow,” he offered, handing her the tea.
Isla was very particular about personal cleanliness and declined politely; after all, he might have been combing his beard with it! The thought made her shudder inwardly. The man did not look offended, but shrugged and smiled, then sat down beside her again.
“That should take care of the pain,” he said firmly. “I use willow bark tea myself an’ it works well.”
Isla sipped the tea. It had a woody, slightly bitter taste, but it was not unpleasant. “How did you learn to do this?” she asked curiously. “I can feel the pain easing already.” She continued to sip the drink, and gradually she began to feel more comfortable.
